


In and Out

by Britty



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bickering, Clothed Sex, Come Eating, Dirty Talk, Drama, Fondling, Holy Wood Era, Hotel Sex, Humor, M/M, Smut, Somnophilia, Watching Someone Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 06:21:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17441564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britty/pseuds/Britty
Summary: What happens when Pogo finds a sleeping John?





	In and Out

"Ginger!" Pogo barked at his bandmate as he strode with purpose over to him, who was perched on a couch in a dark corner of the hotel room. A few party-goers squawked indignantly when Pogo carelessly shoved them out of his way. It was an asshole thing to do, but he couldn't give a shit. He had an issue he needed to convey with Ginger. Pogo reached Ginger and stood before him. When Ginger didn't acknowledge him, Pogo barked again, "Yo! Ginger!"

"Hmm?" Ginger responded vaguely, not bothering to look up at Pogo, as he was more focused on crafting little ghosts out of tissues — which looked suspiciously like Charlie Brown.

_How the fuck did he do that?_

Pogo crossed his arms and glared down his nose at Ginger. "I need your room key," he proclaimed, getting right to the point.

Ginger stopped his activity and finally looked up at Pogo, blinking. "Why?"

Pogo sneered. "I need to piss."

Ginger sneered too. "So?"

" _So_ ," Pogo dragged out the word, "I need to use your bathroom."

Ginger's big eyes turned into slits. "Why don't you use the bathroom here?"

Pogo made a show of rolling his eyes and sighed. Ginger asked too many questions. "Because Manson's been in there for over an hour now, doing who the fuck knows what."

"Then piss in a trash can or something," Ginger suggested stubbornly.

Pogo scoffed. "Please. I wouldn't lower myself to that level."

Ginger raised a non-existent eyebrow. "So pissing on a deaf girl is acceptable, but taking a tinkle elsewhere is barbaric?" he deadpanned.

"Firstly," said Pogo, raising a finger to emphasize his argument, "I didn't do that. I only fucked that girl. And secondly, do you think that lowly of me? I have boundaries too you know." Ginger snorted. It took all of Pogo's strength not to throttle the man. "Look, just give me the fucking key, drummer boy!"

Ginger stared at him, mouth set in a firm line. The little ghost he had been holding in his hand was crushed (the poor thing) and Pogo almost regretted his bluntness. Almost. Why was Ginger so stubborn about this? He just wanted to piss for crying out loud; it wasn't like he was asking him for a leg or something. But apparently, this was too much of a request for Ginger. He was staring at him so hard, Pogo could practically see the cogs working in his head, and he thought that Ginger was either going to deny his request, punch him, or—

"Fine," Ginger acquiesced, accentuating his displeasure with a growl. He fished out the key card from his hoodie and grudgingly threw it at Pogo. "In and out. Got it?" he hissed, and Pogo thought he would froth at the mouth at any second.

Pogo grinned at him. He flipped the key card into the air and caught it. "Hiding something, are you?"

" _Pogo_ ," Ginger said warningly.

"Yeah, yeah." Pogo rolled his eyes. "In and out. Got it."

Ginger sniffed, then returned to his ghosts, scowling. With that, Pogo strutted away, shoving people aside once again.

~*~*~

Pogo wasted no time in relieving his bladder, darting straight into the bathroom as soon as he'd entered Ginger's hotel room.

After finishing his business, satisfied, Pogo exited the bathroom and went to make his way out the door, but his eyes caught on something he failed to notice earlier. He walked further into the room and discovered an interesting sight.

Resting on the furthest bed was John 5. He was lying on his stomach, his face half buried in the pillows with his arms folded beneath them, emitting soft snores like a baby. He was sleeping.

Pogo snorted. Was this why Ginger didn't want him in his room? He supposed that was understandable, as he barely got along with John, and Ginger probably thought he would go John Wayne Gacy on him if they were left alone. That was absurd. Pogo would never kick a puppy when it was down. He wasn't _that_ cruel. Whatever though, at least he knew where John was, as he hadn't seen him at the after-party. In hindsight, Pogo should've known; the goody-two-shoes was never one to attend their parties often. Well, unless big breasts were involved, of course.

Rather than continue to the door, Pogo changed direction and walked up to the foot of the bed where he stood. He blinked, unsure why he was standing there, but chopped it up to curiosity.

He crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at the sleeping form, studying him. John was lying diagonally on the mattress, as though he had walked up to the bed and just collapsed onto it, immediately falling asleep afterwards. Pogo could relate; he'd done that hundreds of times.

He flicked his eyes to John's face. His features were soft and relaxed, his blond fringe hanging loosely over his closed eyes, looking rather peaceful as he slept soundly. Pogo seriously thought about plucking an eyelid open but decided against it. So he continued staring. John was dressed in his nightwear, plaid pyjama pants and a plain t-shirt, a very basic ensemble. Pogo's finger twitched when he noticed how John's shirt had slightly ridden up his back, exposing that little strip of milky skin.

_Oh._

Pogo felt compelled to do something. He took a step closer to the bed, his knees bumping the edge of the mattress. Blue eyes shamelessly roamed over the lean body before they settled on John's pyjama-clad rump. It was a nice little rump, just as pretty and perfect as the rest of him. He wondered if that bum felt as nice as it looked. He reached down and gently rested a hand on one cheek, then squeezed it ever so lightly. He was delighted to discover that it was firm. It was definitely nice. He squeezed it again, not so gently this time, and wondered again how much better that ass would look if it were bare.

Pogo climbed onto the bed and very carefully nudged John's legs apart, and then knelt between them, all the while John remained asleep. Pogo's light, fevered breaths and John's long, relaxed respirations were all that could be heard in the otherwise silent hotel room. He crept his long fingers underneath the elastic of John's pyjamas and slowly tugged them down to the base of his bum, exposing the pert ass to the world.

_Nice._

He traced his finger along the cleft between the two globes and hummed. He repeated the motion with a little more pressure, his fingertip just barely brushing over the furrowed hole in between. Fascinated, Pogo parted the butt cheeks with both hands and stared. John's asshole was pink and tiny, and the visual went straight to Pogo's cock. He pressed his finger against the rosebud, and it winked at him. He hummed again and wondered how tight he must be.

Curiosity engaged, he slid backwards off the bed and journeyed to the night table between the two beds. He opened the first drawer and almost whooped when he found the item he was looking for.

 _Playing guitar wasn't all John did then_ , Pogo mused, as he grabbed the little bottle of lube. It was so ridiculous how easily he found it — as if it belonged there. He briefly wondered if John and Ginger fooled around, but quickly dropped it. He didn't really care about that.

He returned to kneeling between John's open legs again and proceeded to coat his fingers with the slippery substance. Once they were slicked, he prodded the furrowed hole again, then circled it momentarily, before slowly easing his finger inside. The walls of John's channel instantly clenched at the intrusion and Pogo had to pause for a moment.

_Holy shit._

John's body was hot and tight around the digit, and Pogo's ever-growing erection twitched with interest. Slowly, he worked his finger deeper into John, pulling out and then back in until he felt the muscles beginning to relax. He continued this motion for a while until he decided to try for a second finger. When he did, he felt John's body tense, and Pogo froze with his fingers buried deep inside him.

He waited for John to relax, and the moment he did, Pogo rocked his fingers inside him, curling them slightly. He couldn't help but smirk when he heard John suck in a sharp breath. Pogo focussed his attention on that same spot inside him, eliciting another sound from John, and it made his dick even harder. He kept the pace of his fingers moving in and out slow, eventually easing a third into him, to which John responded with a soft whimper, his body squirming as it adjusted to the extra stretch.

In the excitement of his exploration, Pogo had lost track of what he'd been doing, so he was surprised when he noticed that John's hips lifted and his fingers slipped in even further.

 _Oh fuck._ Was he just shifting in his sleep?

Heart pounding like a jackhammer, Pogo checked. John still had his eyes closed, and his breathing hadn't changed. But his pelvis was rocking ever so slightly, fucking his fingers. Suspicious, Pogo crooked his fingers, moving them more deliberately, and John let out a sleepy moan.

 _Oh shit._ John was about to wake up. Pogo had to get his ass out of Dodge. He ever-so-slowly withdrew his fingers, but then—

"Keep going," John murmured.

Pogo froze: his whole body, his brain, his blood. Strangely though, not his cock. His tongue thawed enough for him to ask, "What?"

"Keep going," John repeated.

Was he serious? He must have him confused with someone else. "I'm not Gin—"

"I know who you are," John said sleepily. Pogo nearly fell over. He didn't know how to respond to that, nor how John even knew that it was him. John must have sensed his confusion, and added, "Hard to mistake your giggles for someone else."

 _Shit_ , had he been giggling? Pogo supposed Manson had a point when he told him that he was a bit mad. And then there was what John had said earlier: he wanted him to 'keep going'. John was _letting_ Pogo — for lack of a better word — molest him.

_Fuck._

Pogo felt dazed, all the blood rushed to his already-stiff cock, making it hard enough to drill rock. Shoving his fingers back in, he could feel how much tighter he was. John circled his hips lazily, and Pogo started fucking him with his fingers, in and out in the rhythm he'd be fucking in if it was his cock, not his hand.

"Yeah," John sighed, a soft sleepy sound. He got up on all fours and pressed back into Pogo. "Put your cock in me," he said quietly but demandingly.

Pogo usually wouldn't have taken orders from anyone, let alone John, but there was something so alluring about him, so he wasted no time in complying. He pulled his hand away and quickly freed his hard cock from his leather pants, taking a moment to slick the organ with lube, and then he gripped John's hips and pressed the head of his dick against that waiting hole.

With a bit too much excitement, Pogo shoved his cock into John's ass in one swift go, ripping a surprised gasp out of him, and Pogo had to pause immediately to handle his reeling head. John was fucking tight. His ass squeezed around his cock like a vice, pulsating, warm and alive. It was fucking great. Tightening his hold on John's hips, Pogo pulled out and slammed back in, with zero hesitation or grace. He did it again, harder this time, and John immediately cried out, shoving his ass back.

"Fuck me," John keened, and Pogo lost all restraint.

His hips moved of their own accord, erratically and strong, pounding John hard against the mattress, humping him so relentlessly the whole bed began to shake. Pogo was a monster, reduced to mindless fucking. His thrusts got so hard, he thought he might split John open.

John upped the ante by rearing up off his hands and pushed back, sitting on Pogo's lap, grinding down on him with shameless need. "God, Pogo," he moaned, then he began to fuck himself on Pogo's cock, riding him like a fucking champion, and it was all Pogo could do not to come right then.

Pogo glided his hands from John's hips to snake them up and underneath the hem of his shirt. His palms slid over smooth skin as he moved his hands up John's sides, pulling up his shirt more and more as he went. He reached around his front and found John's nipples, rubbing them and pinching them between his fingers. John gasped and ground his ass back into Pogo, and Pogo played with the little nubs with more fervour, lightly tugging and gently rolling them around.

"You're so fucking hot; you know that?" Pogo growled. "You feel so good, so tight. I want to come inside you."

"You want to come inside me?" John asked through laboured breaths.

"Fuck yes," Pogo growled again. "I want to fill you up with my fucking load. I'm going to fill you up with so much come, it'll be leaking out your pretty little hole for days."

John moaned. "So what are you waiting for?" He bucked backwards against Pogo's groin, and Pogo lost it. He furiously pumped up and up and up into John's tight heat, making John bounce atop his lap like a pony rider.

After a few minutes of hardcore rutting, John tugged at Pogo's hand and guided it to wrap his fingers around his neglected cock. Pogo got the hint and fisted it, pumping it to match his thrusts. John started gasping and moaning then, his hips were losing their rhythm, and his body was beginning to tense.

Before Pogo knew what was happening, John was crying out and arching into him, stiffening atop his lap as he came. His come splattered over Pogo's fist, getting it all over his hand, and Pogo just couldn't even. John's orgasm made his body tighten deliciously around Pogo's still-pumping cock, and it was easily the best fucking feeling he had ever felt. And then he was coming. He was coming so hard he saw stars. He emptied himself in John's tight-as-fuck ass, filling it up with his load, painting his insides, and it was absolutely amazing.

When Pogo went to pull his hand away, John reached for it and redirected the come-covered fingers into his mouth, sucking and licking away his own release as if it were a delectable treat. Pogo could only blink as John laved at his fingers, too much of a satiated mess to really comprehend anything.

Once John was done with his treat, he detached himself from Pogo's lap and pulled up his pyjamas, then lied back down and closed his eyes, pillowing his head in his arms. He looked oddly normal.

"I don't know what the fuck that was all about, but it was hot," he murmured. "I won't tell if you don't."

"Cool..." was all Pogo could say, because he wouldn’t know how to respond to that even if he hadn't just turned his brain to a puddle of mush.

In a daze, Pogo slid off the bed and tucked himself away. He straightened out his appearance, making sure that everything was in place, before letting himself out the door. Once he was out in the corridor, his brain had finally caught up with him, and he couldn't help but grin to himself.

 _Well, that was interesting._ He definitely went 'in and out' on that.


End file.
